


overarrow

by fuwaesthetic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, HAHAHA don't worry no one gets talons shoved anywhere it's okay, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sickfic, Trans Character, commission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5548472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuwaesthetic/pseuds/fuwaesthetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>commission // “There’s a couple good human cures for colds,” the more boisterous tengu begins, sounding oddly solemn for his looks. “One: soup. Two: medicine. Three: hot baths! Like, to clear your nose and stuff. And fouuuurthly, the best cure: sex.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	overarrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skittidyne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittidyne/gifts).
  * Inspired by [bell, book, and candle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3766450) by [skittidyne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittidyne/pseuds/skittidyne). 



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY SKITTY, THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME THE OPPORTUNITY TO WRITE THIS AND FOR PUTTING UP WITH MY SUPER SLOW ASS ;; I LOVE YOU AND I HOPE YOU HAVE A GOOD DAY!!

Kenma does very well in not getting sick, but it’s been getting easier to get so lately. It’s probably the amount of magic he’s been having to do—he sneezes at the thought and watches his shadow jump like a startled cat. Kenma curls into blankets as the demon manifests beside him, a too warm source of heat wrapping his arms around the cocoon he’s put himself in, and he sighs when Kuro sets his chin at the top of his head.

This always happens. He sniffles again, craning his neck to look up at Kuro with a small frown, and swallows hard when he realizes how close they are. Not that it should matter, because they’ve been closer, but the way the demon’s looking at him (honeyed concern) and the way his hand is dropping to his cheek, fingertips ghosting over skin—

The both of them jump when the door slams open and Bokuto tumbles in, screeching. Kenma jumps an extra time as Bokuto slams into the side of his bed with an oomph, and Akaashi follows in after with a decidedly pissed look on their face. At least, Kenma thinks they’re mad; he’s no expert on the owl tengu’s moods or the subtle changes that come with them, but he’s  _ pretty sure _ Akaashi’s mad.

That assumption flies right out the window when Akaashi snatches Bokuto up, yanks him closer, and kisses him square on the mouth. Kuro and Kenma stare as the latter tengu squirms helplessly in Akaashi’s firm grasp—Kenma can recognize it now as not terror or hesitance, but some sort of… excitement? And Akaashi hadn’t been pissed, they’d been…

He groans, a little loudly than he’d like to be, and flops back into his cotton sheets. No. He was not well enough to deal with two horny birds, much less his demon’s obviously spiking interest. At least Kuro slides back into bed with him, even if he presses their backs together so he can watch the affair unfolding in front of him. Kenma stares at the wall instead, jerking a little every time something sounds like it’s close to breaking, and he squeezes his eyes shut. No, no—there really is no way he could deal with this—

“Kuro,” he warbles out softly, hating how sick he sounds. “Make them stop that. I don’t care how, just do it.”

“By any means necessary, eh? I can work within those confines.”

He sighs as the unnecessary heat leaves, grateful for the chill left behind. He might regret that later, but for now, it’s wonderful.

What isn’t wonderful is the sudden clearing of Kuro’s throat, nor the way he drawls his words. “Kenma’s not feeling well, you two, so cut the cute mating dance out, all right?”

“Oh—oh,” Bokuto replies—no, pants. Kenma grits his teeth and ignores how nice that sound is. And how nice his name sounds next. “Kenma’s sick?”

“Yep. So you both need to calm down. Oooor,” and the way Kuro drawls it simultaneously gets on Kenma’s nerves and makes them buzz pleasantly, “you could help him get better. You know, with that thing we read the other day?”

What thing they read the other day. Kenma throws him a suspicious look, but there’s no way the demon sees it; he’s turned away after all, and the witch groans softly into his blanket. He’s not really sure he  _ wants _ to know, on second thought. He’s also sure he’s going to learn very shortly by the way Bokuto hoots  _ loudly _ and tackles Kuro onto the bed—and Kenma, who whines. The demon sits up and apologizes, turning quick enough that the owl tengu in his lap tumbles out of it and onto the bed, and he has to pry bitten nails away from his clothes with gritted teeth. His demon still pulls him up and wraps his arms around his middle, resting his cheek on his head. Kenma feels his muscles relax beneath his hands.

He closes his eyes, sighs, and fidgets with the edge of his shirt.

“ _ What _ thing you read?” he asks, already knowing he’ll regret the question. Bokuto rolls over on his stomach, eyes sparkling, as Akaashi comes to sit beside him; the latter tucks their taloned hands into their feathers, looking as patient as possible despite their tapping feet.

“There’s a couple good human cures for colds,” the more boisterous tengu begins, sounding oddly solemn for his looks. “One: soup. Two: medicine. Three: hot baths! Like, to clear your nose and stuff. And fouuuurthly, the  _ best _ cure: sex.”

Kenma feels the blood rush to his face, drain out of it not a moment later, and then return again. It’s a dizzying sequence that has him closing his eyes and has Kuro pressing his face into the crook of his neck, worry buzzing across their connection.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Kuro murmurs on his skin. “It’s just an idea. To cheer you up and make you feel good. I can kick them out for real if you want me to.”

“I just—wasn’t expecting that.” Kenma shifts against the demon behind him, then looks at Bokuto. (He later on recalls it as the biggest mistake out of a lot of big mistakes he’s made in his life.) The tengu stares at him, bottom lip poking out a little,  _ wibbling softly _ and oh for God’s sake, Kenma’s pretty sure this is his version of puppy dog eyes. Kenma purses his lips and firmly resists the urge to curl into himself again and just hide away, even with anxiety sliding its fingers against his rib cage.

“Fine,” he says. His voice is too hoarse and his throat is too tight, but he can’t find it in himself to say no. Not to those eyes, not to that pout, not to the actual sunshine beaming from Bokuto’s face as he scoots closer and lays his head in Kenma’s lap. “We can try.”

The uncomfortable feelings never left, anyway—the ones broiling beneath his stomach, warm and gooey, and Bokuto nuzzling his inner thigh kicks them back into high gear. Kuro reminds him too soft for either tengu to hear that they can stop whenever he wants to, just say the word, and Kenma nods to show his understand. He lifts a taloned hand, running his fingers over the joints, and points at it with his other one.

“These have to go.”

“Go where?” Bokuto asks,  _ too _ excitedly, and Kenma stares at him until Akaashi clears their throat and pulls the other tengu away and whispers into his ear. The grin on his face droops a little as his brows knit in confusion, then settle in understanding as Akaashi pulls away again. In no time flat, the claw in his hand turns into a smooth palm with softer, rounder digits, and Kenma plays with the fingers idly. Akaashi’s hand joins Bokuto’s on his palm and he does the same with theirs, nearly content with just this.

Until Kuro bites the crook of his neck, pulling Kenma down to lay on him in the process, and the warmth that’d been buried beneath his idle ministrations surfaces a third time. He moans softly, frowning slightly when he feels glamored hands trail off his fingertips; he finds them ghosting just over his shirt, or  _ one _ pair of them doing so. Gentle, bolder hands immediately head beneath the cotton, pushing it up, and one of the tengu gives a startled yelp.

Bokuto. That has to be Bokuto. Kenma dizzily registers Bokuto and his hands retreating to his pants, but the ones under his shirt stay—by process of elimination, those have to belong to Akaashi. Kuro’s have helpfully moved from his middle to his shoulders, likely to give the other more skin to cover (or expose, he guesses), and Kenma feels a wave of panic when Akaashi tries to pull one of his arms up to tug his shirt off.

“It stays on,” Kenma has to whisper, eyes trained hard on the impassive face, and after a beat the hands slide back down to his waist and he can breathe again. Kuro nibbles at his neck, trailing sharper canines than any human body should have up past his jaw and to the lobe of his ear. He shudders when the demon licks his ear, deliberately slow, and shudders again when Bokuto jerks his pants down and prods curiously at what he finds.

Kenma really, really doesn’t want to give their tengu friends an impromptu anatomy lesson on the human body, so he kicks his foot back at Bokuto’s face; the latter catches it with a squawk, then turns it over in his hands and presses his lips to his ankle’s tender skin. It feels—weird, but nice weird, like when someone kisses the inside of your wrist. Like how Akaashi’s doing, soft and sweet before they busy themselves with making marks on his boney hip instead. He  _ almost _ doesn’t notice a hand dipping between his thighs, but his reflexes catch them quickly between his legs; Kuro murmurs encouragement against his temple, working his legs open tenderly, and  Kenma lets him after his moment passes.

It’s nice—the whole thing is, being treated like this, even  _ if _ it does put him teetering between panicking at how many hands are on him right now and being irritated at the hoops his mind keeps jumping through. At least his partners seem to be able to read his mood well-enough—they move like an ebbing tide, pulling away in their affections when he goes one way and ploughing forth when he almost hits the other. Coming is messy, Kuro’s fingers curling into him, and Kenma realizes he’s not the one moaning (too short of breath, his head dizzy from sickness and release); it’s Bokuto, glamor shucked off completely.

And Kuro, low behind him; he feels it all over, tingling.

(Akaashi stays quiet, observant, their glamor shaky while they watch Kenma come undone in front of them. It’s perverse, but flattering.)

“You  _ look  _ better,” Bokuto says between finishing his kisses up his leg (he had stopped at his knee, cheek pressed against it) and pausing to blatantly stare at Kenma. “Do you feel better?”

“Tired,” Kenma replies, because that’s all he really is, the adrenaline, the arousal, the everything is quickly being replaced by exhaustion in his bones, and he jerks a little when Kuro pulls his fingers out and skirts a little too close to his still sensitive clit. He hesitates, staring at the two tengu and feeling Kuro’s gaze on the top of his head, and closes his eyes.

“But better.”

“That’s great!” Bokuto scoots up and curls his arm wings against his side as he relaxes into Kenma. “ _ Really great. _ I feel great too. Like, really super great, and I didn’t even get anything done to me!”

Akaashi huffs quietly, curling into Kenma’s other side—he’s sure they’re not  _ as _ satisfied, and he gives their cheek a gentle stroke. The tengu shakes their head in reply and sighs, winding their fingers into his shirt.

“I am fine. However.” They pause, then blink at him owlishly; a small smile pulls at their lips. “Thank you for worrying about me. This was enough.”

“It better’ve been,” Kuro replies loudly; Kenma winces, and the demon’s voice immediately drops on his next comment. “Can’t do it a second time—or Kenma can’t. He’s gotta rest.”

“Resting would’ve been better than doing this,” he retorts before either tengu can get to it first. Kuro nuzzles the top of his head gently, humming in reply, and Kenma feels himself drift off just as his demon starts jeering at Bokuto’s lack-of control over his glamor.


End file.
